


Welcome

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Cute, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'can you do a lennstarr getting together fic?'Sorry it's not very long.





	Welcome

“Macca’s cracking into that reporter bird.”

Ringo glances across as John gestures to the bar, and smiles, although not at the way Paul is currently adjusting some woman’s fringe; he’s looking at the way that John’s fringe has flopped into those ashy-brown eyes, and the way that he can barely talk through the smile that’s on his face as he rambles on about the bar around him.

“Ey, you know what, yeh should go for that bird over there.”

He turns – she’s more John’s type than his, he notes – tall and blonde and very feminine.

“No? Alright, that one.”

She’s small, with red hair and platforms that probably make her twice his height. She’s cute, yes – but again. Not quite.

“What about me?”

Ringo turns around, and John looks at him with wide, guileless eyes.

“What  _about_  you?”

“Yer a cute lad. How about me?” he grinned, and Ringo blinks.

“What do you mean, lad?”

“Well. Yer always lookin’ at birds like they’re aliens, an’ you’re cute.” Ringo looks sideways at the – half-empty – bottle of wine on the table, and then back up at John – his smile is still crooked, his cheeks still plump and rosy, but his eyes have a note of panic in them, and that clues Ringo in, in a breathless rush – but he doesn’t. Where Macca or even Geo might’ve rushed forward and kissed John, he leans in and takes his hand, staring softly up at him.

“You mean it?”

John’s response is to shuffle up, so he’s leg-to-leg with Ringo, and lean in; Ringo slides his arm around him after a confused pause, and John smiles.

“Probably, yeah.”

“You mean that you mean it, yeh?” Ringo asks, and John does not kiss him – this place is too public and it is far, far too soon, mere minutes in, for any of that anyway, even if John is usually a fast mover – instead, he takes his hand, and nuzzles further back into him.

“Macca’s strikin’ out with that bird.”

The reporter huffs and marches away, leaving Paul standing there confused, and John squeezes Ringo’s arm.

“What a dick’ead.”

“Yeah,” Ringo murmurs, and swallows nervously before smiling as his stomach rolls in both joy and alarm at this new development. But then John is leaning across him for his drink and he decides to roll with it. It’s new, and scary, and so very welcome.


End file.
